Sherlock's Unconventional Weekend
by BenAddiction
Summary: A hotel, and a weekend away, but why is every hotel fully booked and why do teenage girls squeal so loudly? Please enjoy and review, and please be kind. Rated T for mild swearing. Complete!
1. Arrival

**I hope you enjoy. Please review.**

Sherlock's Unconventional Weekend.

Chapter One – Arrival

Sherlock's piercing blue gaze swept across the hotel lobby as he stepped out of the revolving door, his brain cataloguing every detail. Walking forward he joined the queue to check in, followed eventually by his blogger John Watson who was muttering quietly to himself.

'That's alright Sherlock, I'll pay for the taxi and sort out the luggage. Wouldn't want you to strain yourself!'

Ignoring the older man, Sherlock moved up to the desk and removed his black leather gloves.

Raising her head with her professional smile fixed firmly in place the receptionist asked, 'Name?'

'Holmes. I booked two rooms for one night.' stated Sherlock as his brain sifted through all of the minuscule details of the young woman's life.

Typing the name into the computer in front of her, the receptionist's eyes widened slightly as she read the information on the screen. Glancing up at the consulting detective, the young woman gulped in fear as she saw the expression on Sherlock's face. 'Erm ... I am most dreadfully sorry sir, I'm afraid there appears to have been a mix up with your reservation. We only appear to have one room booked under the name of Holmes.'

John stepped up to Sherlock's side and noticing his flatmate glaring menacingly at the terrified receptionist, he looked between the two of them as he asked with a confused smile on his face 'Is there a problem here? ... Sherlock?'

Sherlock drew himself up to his full height as he looked down with disdain at the young woman behind the desk, and replied to his friend, 'There's no problem John, well, nothing a little more concentration when accepting bookings wouldn't cure. Instead, it appears to be perfectly acceptable to be checking twitter whilst on the phone to potential customers, rather than ensuring the correct details have been taken!'

John sighed and had just opened his mouth to speak, when the receptionist, angry at being thought of as incompetent, interrupted, 'Excuse me, sir ...'

'You are excused, now I wish to see the manager, if you would be so kind. Thank you!' stated Sherlock, before the young woman could continue.

Opening and closing her mouth very much in the manner of a goldfish, the young receptionist stood frozen to the spot. Taking pity on the young woman, John leant forward and said quietly 'Maybe it would be better for us to discuss this with someone a little more senior.'

Blinking several times, she turned towards John, gave a polite smile and pressing a key on her computer to call the duty manager to the front desk, she replied 'Yes, of course sir, if you'll wait a moment, the manager will be with you shortly.'

Sensing that Sherlock was readying himself to deliver one of his more cutting remarks, John placed his hand on his flatmate's arm and murmured quietly, 'Don't. Just don't. I'll deal with this. Okay?'

Sherlock lowered his head slightly in a nod of agreement and took a small step back, acknowledging John's superior people skills.

When the manager arrived some minutes later, it was explained to the two men that unfortunately, due to the large number of guests there were no other rooms available. A call around to other hotels in the area elicited the same response. Everywhere was fully booked.

John released a weary sigh as he lowered his head in resignation of the fact that he would be sharing a room with his flatmate. Straightening up, he accepted the key-card and thanked the manager for attempting to help, then reaching down, he picked up the luggage and began walking towards the lifts, followed rapidly by the consulting detective.

'John?' asked Sherlock as they stood waiting for the lift to arrive.

'It's ten o'clock at night, the train journey up from London was a nightmare, I am tired and I am cold. I just want to get to my room and go to sleep. So whatever you are thinking of saying, whatever gem is whizzing around that enormous brain of yours? Just, please, for once, keep it to yourself. Okay?' replied John as he stepped into the lift which had just that second arrived. 'What floor are we on?'

'Third. Our room number is 307.' answered Sherlock as he pressed the number 3 on the wall, before turning to face the doors. Both John and Sherlock falling silent as they waited for them to close.

A sudden shout from just along the corridor brought both men out of their thoughts. Sherlock reached over to press the button that prevented the doors from closing as John leant out to see what the commotion was all about. The sound of muffled footsteps could be heard hurrying along the carpeted corridor.

'Hold the lift, please!' the teenage girl at the front of the group of teenagers called out again, before all three of them tumbled in to the lift. 'Thank you so much.' she gushed, turning to look at the two other occupants as she pushed the button for the fourth floor. As she raised her eyes to Sherlock's face, her mouth dropped open in shock.

'Jen? What ...?' the other two teenage girls began to ask, before they too gazed at Sherlock in surprise.

Sherlock frowned as he glanced across at John, who was looking thoroughly confused by the bizarre turn of events.

Luckily for both men, the lift arrived at the third floor, and the two of them rapidly exited the lift. As they walked down the corridor, they heard a high pitched squeal followed by giggling before the lift doors finally closed, cutting off the sound.

'What on earth was that all about, Sherlock?' asked John as they searched for their room.

'Teenage girls John. I have no idea, they are a complete and utter mystery to the rest of the human race.' replied Sherlock, opening the door to their room and walking in, before continuing 'I'm sure it will all be made perfectly clear tomorrow.'

John followed his friend into the room and dumped their bags on the floor next to the king size bed. Leaning down, he opened his holdall and removed his toiletry bag and sleep ware. 'Right, well, I'm going to commandeer the bathroom and get ready for bed. Shouldn't be too long, then you can do ... whatever it is you do ... to get ready for the night. If that's alright with you?' said John, a light blush crossed his cheeks as he realised that he would actually have to share a bed with his young flatmate. John was no prude, he'd been in the army for God's sake, but it had been quite a long time since he had been in such close proximity to another man, and after the excruciatingly embarrassing discussion at Angelo's the day after they first met, he didn't want Sherlock to think he was in any way propositioning him again.

When there was no reply, John looked across the room to where Sherlock was now laid out on the sofa with his eyes closed and his hands raised to his lips in the stereotypical prayer position. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head in exasperation, John smiled softly as he walked in to the bathroom to change for bed, resolving to cover the young man in one of the spare blankets that were usually kept in the top of the wardrobes in hotel rooms.


	2. Let's Play Fratricide

A/N: Thank you so much all of you wonderful people who have reviewed this story so far, I hope you continue. Your reviews mean so much to me. :-D I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint too much, hopefully the next chapter will be better!

Don't own Sherlock, wish I did. :)

Iain Jackson and Concity are completely made up by me, and do not, as far as I am aware, exist.

Hope you all enjoy, please review.

Chapter Two – Let's Play ... Fratricide.

John groaned as he stretched upon waking. Opening his eyes he sat up and looked around. The blanket that had covered his flatmate was now folded up and resting on the sofa, with the younger man nowhere in sight. Yawning widely, John got out of bed, found the clothes he wanted to wear that day in his bag and walked over to the en suite bathroom.

Having finished getting ready for the day, John returned to the bedroom to discover his flatmate seated at the desk surrounded by newspapers.

'Oh ... you're back then.' stated John as he placed his pyjamas and toiletries on the bed.

'Hm? ... Yes, obviously.' Sherlock replied whilst concentrating on the pages in front of him.

'So, what's with all of the papers? A case?' asked John. 'Otherwise, I was going to suggest we head down for some breakfast.'

'Not a case, no.' muttered Sherlock, conveniently ignoring the rest of the conversation.

'Okay, so breakfast then.' John replied as he sat on the bed to fasten his shoe laces.

'Not hungry.' Sherlock answered distractedly.

'Wasn't asking! Let's go.' John walked over to his flatmate, picked up Sherlock's coat and scarf and handed them to the younger man. 'You haven't had a decent meal since Thursday and it's Saturday today, and you've just said that you're not on a case, so we're having the breakfast that comes with the room.'

Groaning in defeat, Sherlock got to his feet, pulled on his long dark coat, and wrapped his scarf around his slim neck. Picking up their key-card, the two men left their room and walked along the corridor towards the lift. Halfway there, the two men slowed slightly and turned towards each other, both having remembered the scene in the lift from the previous evening. Raising an eyebrow, Sherlock asked the former army doctor, 'Stairs?'

John gave a short nod as he replied, 'Stairs!' The detective and his blogger then proceeded to make their way to the ground floor. Entering the dining room, they gave their room number to a member of staff and were shown to a table. Leaving Sherlock seated at the table, John queued up at the buffet. After he had helped himself to several breakfast items, John collected a second plate and filled it with some food for Sherlock, hoping to tempt his fussy palate. Placing the plate in front of his young friend, John sat down and began devouring his own breakfast of sausage, bacon, fried eggs and beans. Picking up a slice of toast, and a mini pot of strawberry jam, he swallowed his final mouthful of baked beans as he finally took a moment to look around at the rest of the dining room.

'So, what have you deduced about our fellow diners then, Sherlock? Any serial killers in our midst?' John asked with a grin before taking a bite of his jam laden toast.

'Well, that couple sat over in the corner are quite obviously ...' Sherlock didn't manage to say anything further as they were suddenly joined by a middle aged red haired, bearded man dressed smartly in a three piece suit.

'So sorry to bother you, but you are Mr. Sherlock Holmes and companion, are you not?' the gentleman inquired.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the man who had interrupted his genius. 'And you are?' he asked using every ounce of superiority he possessed as he looked down his nose at the interloper.

'Oh, erm ... Iain Jackson, I run Concity. We are the biggest unofficial convention company in the UK. We run fan conventions for like-minded individuals' Iain replied, a polite though somewhat confused smile crossing his face as he realised that the two men eating their breakfast in front of him, had never heard of him or his company. 'I spoke to your PA, Mr. Holmes. She was extremely helpful.'

'My PA, Mr. Jackson?' asked Sherlock, as he glanced across at John, his eyebrow raised a little in confusion. John shook his head slightly, telling Sherlock without words that he was as much in the dark as the detective.

'Yes. I think she said her name was Anthea. A very efficient young woman, and like I said before, extremely helpful.' answered Iain, his worried gaze switching rapidly between the two guests. 'Look, is there a problem? I was led to believe that everything in the contract was satisfactory.'

'Sherlock, what's going on? Why would your brother's assistant be organising for us to attend a convention. I don't understand.' asked John.

'Mycroft!' hissed Sherlock, then turning to John, he grimaced and asked, 'Tell me John, what are your thoughts on fratricide?'

Just as John opened his mouth to answer the young genius, a high pitched squeal rang out from across the dining room, 'Oh. My. God! It's him, it really is him!'

Wincing at the noise, John turned to his friend and replied 'Well, I'm definitely warming to the idea.'


	3. Brother Mine!

A/N: Wow, reviews are already in double figures after only two chapters. Thank you so much to all of you who have reviewed, I really appreciate it so much. Please continue! :) I hope you enjoy this latest offering, and don't worry I will be getting to the actual convention very soon. :-)

I don't own Sherlock, because believe me, if I did, what fun I would have! ;-P

So there are some minor spoilers to the third series of Sherlock (before The Sign of Three) in this chapter (Sherlock is back, and John is engaged to Mary).

Chapter Three – Brother Mine!

Closing the door behind him, John followed Sherlock into their room, and picking his bag up from the floor, he placed it on the bed where he unzipped it. Collecting his dirty laundry and toiletries from where he had placed them on the bed before breakfast, he began to pack his belongings away in a quick, and efficient manner. Pausing, John put his pyjama bottoms back on the bed and looked across at his young friend.

'Well, at least we know what that little scene was about in the lift last night.' John said with a sigh, before continuing. 'What's really going on Sherlock? Why are we here, and what the hell has Mycroft got to do with all of this?'

'I'm ... I'm not sure. Lestrade texted me about a possible crime scene linked to that serial killer from last month. He said he'd spoken to the local police and he could get me the go ahead to take a look if I came up this weekend, but only this weekend. Evidently he was lying, Mycroft must have coerced him into sending us on a wild goose chase. As to why Mycroft is involved? I can only surmise that it is his way of collecting part of my debt to him. He does so enjoy his little games.' answered Sherlock with a grimace as thoughts of his older brother crossed his mind.

'Sorry ... debt?' John frowned in confusion as he tried to wrap his head around all he had just heard.

'For the help he gave me during my time ... away.' replied Sherlock glancing in John's direction before quickly averting his eyes in shame.

John sighed again. 'Sherlock ... it's done, I've already told you that I forgive you, though the way you went about it, was not the best way to achieve that outcome, just so you know for next time.'

Sherlock smiled slightly as he said quietly, 'There isn't going to be a next time John, that I can promise you.'

'Good to know. So, the single room. Was that Mycroft's idea as well? Your brother's warped idea of a joke? Because I have to be honest, it's beginning to wear a little thin now. I'm engaged to be married for Christ's sake!' asked John, as he picked up his pyjamas again and continued to pack his bag ready for their departure back to London later that day.

Sherlock snorted softly as he replied 'Huh, hardly. My brother's sense of humour is virtually non-existent. No that really was an error by the hotel staff as I said yesterday. Though I believe, if the text I received a short while ago from my brother's assistant is correct and I have no reason to think otherwise, the room is actually booked for two nights to enable us to attend the whole of this weekend's event.'

John froze in the middle of zipping up his bag and stared in disbelief at his friend. 'You couldn't tell me that earlier? Before I started packing my bag?' Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by John, 'Hang on, we don't have enough clothes for two nights. We only packed enough stuff for an overnight stay.'

'That won't be a problem, Mycroft's assistant is having some clothes sent up, they'll be available for collection from the concierge later this afternoon.' Sherlock stated, while pulling his mobile from his jacket pocket, and loading up his internet browser. 'Now let's take a look at this Concity and find out who we're dealing with.'

John unzipped his bag, removed his toiletries and walked into the en suite bathroom. After depositing his razor, shaving gel, toothbrush and paste next to the sink, he returned to the bedroom. Picking up the itinerary for the convention, he checked his watch. Noting that they were scheduled to be in the conservatory in twenty minutes for a photo session, he pulled on his coat, walked over to the mirror and straightened his clothing and hair before turning back to his friend and asked.

'Are you going to get ready? If we're going to do this, we may as well do it right. The itinerary says that we're due downstairs in twenty minutes. You may want to ... I don't know ... brush your hair or something.'

Sherlock looked up from his perusal of the Concity's website. 'Hmm? ... Oh right, yes. Of course.' he answered.

Standing up, Sherlock refastened his coat and scarf from where he had loosened it earlier. Then he put his hands up to his head and ruffled his dark curls. His hair falling perfectly into place in soft waves. Turning towards the door, he picked up the key-card to the room. As he walked out into the corridor, he became aware of the fact that John wasn't following him. Turning around he saw John staring at him in amazement, his mouth open wide in surprise. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he asked, 'What? ... What is it? ... What's wrong?'

John blinked several times before he closed his mouth with an audible snap. 'You just ... run your fingers through your hair ... and you look like you just stepped out of a fancy hair salon ... how do you do that? If I tried that, I'd look like I'd just been pulled through a hedge backwards!'

'It's just my hair John.' replied Sherlock with a bemused expression on his face. 'Now, come along, you were concerned mere seconds ago about us being late, and now you're just standing there, staring.'


	4. It was in the conservatory with

A/N: Apologies for the delay. Thank you to all the people who have read this story so far, especially those of you who have reviewed, followed and favourited. Please continue, it means such a lot to me, I love getting reviews, they make my day.

Still don't own Sherlock!

Please enjoy. :-)

Chapter Four – It was in the conservatory with...

Walking back down to the ground floor, John put his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out his mobile. When he checked his messages he found one from Mary asking him to call her when he arrived at the hotel. Groaning slightly, he remembered that he had forgotten to do so the previous evening, so, moving his fingers slowly over his phone (technology was not his friend), he called his fiancée. Reaching Mary's voice mail, he left a message. 'Hi love, I am so sorry for not calling you earlier. Apparently there is no case, it's Mycroft's idea of a joke! I'll tell you more when we get home, and about that, erm ... Sherlock and I are booked to stay another night ... apparently. Mycroft's idea again. Anyway, I'll see you soon. Love you! Bye.'

Hanging up, John glanced across to where Sherlock was standing, looking at him, smirking. Frowning, John asked, 'What? Why are you smirking like that?'

'You finished that message in a hurry, didn't you?' answered Sherlock with a grin.

John huffed as he pushed passed his friend and ignoring the question posed to him, jogged down the rest of the steps to the floor below. Sherlock followed his doctor down the stairs, his blue eyes sparkling with undisguised mirth.

John turned slightly as he reached the bottom, and, realising Sherlock still found his predicament amusing, he turned back grumbling 'Shut up Sherlock. Just because Mary happens to like you, though God knows why as none of my previous girlfriends did, doesn't mean that she'll be happy about the change in plans. Okay?'

'Mary likes me, because unlike your previous girlfriends, she has a modicum of intelligence.' replied Sherlock.

John grinned as he turned back to his former flatmate and with just a hint of surprise in his voice said, 'You actually like her, don't you?'

'Don't be ridiculous John.' Sherlock answered, though much to his chagrin, his voice was rather lacking it's usual conviction, as he pushed through the doors into the hotel lobby.

Shaking his head in amusement, John followed, only to walk into a six foot wall of wool. Stumbling slightly and unable to see around his friend's immobile tall frame, John jabbed his finger into the small of Sherlock's back and called out, in order to gain his attention. 'Hey!'

Frowning at the discomfort in his back, Sherlock moved slightly to the side to allow John a view of the room. John's jaw dropped in surprise as he peered around his friend. In front of the two men were, what appeared to be, several hundred men, women and children, several of whom were wearing long dark coats and deerstalkers, standing around in groups chatting. Looking up at his friend, John saw an expression similar to his own on the younger man's face. Opening his mouth to ask the young detective what the hell was going on, he stopped when he saw the event organiser pushing his way through the crowd of people towards them.

'Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, please come this way, we're all set up for you.' Iain Jackson called out as soon as he was close enough to the two men, steering them away from the growing throng towards the hotel conservatory.

'How ... how many people are attending this event, Mr. Jackson?' John asked as they made their way along the hotel corridor.

Iain smiled happily as he answered, 'Just under one thousand people, Dr. Watson. I have to say, I'm rather pleased with the response. Your fan base is larger than I was expecting, not that I'm complaining, you understand.'

'One ... thousand ... bloody hell, that's ... Jesus! A thousand! Really!?' John's eyebrows were raised so high in surprise, they appeared to have become part of his short military style fringe. Iain grinned in delight at the doctor's reaction.

As the three men finally reached the conservatory, Sherlock and John looked around in awed silence. The chandeliers hanging from the gilt edged ceiling shone brightly, rainbows from the glittering crystals dancing across the four walls. The sheer magnificence of the room taking their breath away. Holding out his arm, Iain indicated a route through the many tables that had been set up to provide a walkway of sorts leading to the far end, where an impromptu photographic studio had been set up.

'So, the attendees will queue up along this walkway, having left any bags at the central bag-dump, and wait at the white line just here.' At this point Iain pointed to a strip of white tape stuck to the floor, which was similar in appearance to the marks left on a stage to denote an actor's position during a play, before continuing, 'Each attendee (or group of attendees, depending on the type of ticket purchased) will then step forward and stand on the cross. Then, depending again on whether the attendee has purchased a single ticket or a duo ticket, either one or both of you will stand next to the attendee and a photo will be taken. That attendee will then leave, and the next one will take their place. Everything clear so far?' asked Iain with a small smile.

Sherlock rolled his eyes in obvious frustration as he opened his mouth to give a condescending answer when John grabbed his arm and speaking louder than normal to drown out any comment Sherlock may still attempt to make, replied 'Yes, thank you, it all seems to be very well thought out.' Returning his voice to it's usual volume he asked, 'What about when the photos are taken, erm ... is there ... erm ... any sort of ... erm ... protocol regarding posing for the photo?'

An expression of confusion crossed Iain's face as he looked at the two men, unsure of what he was being asked. Sherlock groaned as he shook off John's hand on his arm and explained, 'What John is trying to say and failing miserably; how close do we have to be to these people when the photographs are being taken?'

Iain's face cleared as he finally understood John's question. Replying, he said 'Ah, well, we've informed all attendees of the rules governing the photo shoot. There will be no props, no hugs and definitely no inappropriate touching. Any groping of the guests will result in the police being called and the perpetrator will be prosecuted. You need have no worries on that score. Anything else will be at your own discretion as long as everyone feels comfortable. So if you feel okay with placing an arm on the attendee's shoulder, for example, that wouldn't be a problem.'

Nodding, John smiled at Iain and said, 'Okay, let's get this started then, shall we.' His smile widening when he heard Sherlock groan loudly at the thought of what was to come.


	5. And Smile

A/N: Once again thank you so much to those of you who have reviewed so far, it means such a lot :-) Please continue. I hope you like this little chapter!

Disclaimer: Still don't own, wish I did ;-P

Please enjoy!

Chapter Five – And Smile ...

Two hours later and John was beginning to flag. His cheek muscles were aching so much, it felt as though his facial expression would be permanently stuck in a rictus grin. Taking a brief moment between photos, he looked across at his younger flatmate, who was looking surprisingly relaxed.

'How is your face not hurting from smiling so much, Sherlock?' John leant across towards his friend and asked quietly.

Sherlock's lips tilted up into the barest hint of a smile as he glanced quickly across at the blonde doctor. 'I'm not grinning like an idiot.' replied Sherlock, in a low whisper.

John's eyes narrowed slightly as he glared at his friend, 'Shut up Sherlock.' replied John, before pulling his face back into a smile as he moved away to allow the next attendee to stand between the pair.

Finally, the queue for photographs came to an end. As the two men began to move away from their designated places, the final attendee to have her photo taken, looked up at Sherlock, and her warm brown eyes sparkling with happiness, placed her hand carefully on the young detective's upper arm and said quietly, and with great sincerity, 'Thank you' before removing her hand and walking away. Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he stared at the older woman as she left the room, his all seeing gaze taking in every detail of the woman's life, from the style of her hair to the fastening of the laces on her shoes. They all told the story of a woman, tired of the world and her place in it, and yet, the way her eyes had lit up and the smile that radiated from her face in that one brief moment spoke of true contentment that few people achieve, only for it to fall away as she left the room to return to the real world of family arguments and a stress filled life.

Shaking the images from his head, Sherlock turned to his friend who was looking at him with concern on his face. Flipping up his collar, Sherlock put his hands into his coat pockets and pulled the long woollen garment tighter around his slender frame as he turned to walk away.

Jogging slightly to keep pace with his tall friend, John looked up as he asked, 'Are you okay? That woman ... everything ... alright?'

Sherlock stopped suddenly, and inhaled sharply before replying, 'Yes John. I'm fine. So, what's next on the agenda?'

'Oh, um ... I'm not too sure. Erm, but as it's lunchtime, we may as well see about getting something to eat. Come on, let's make our way over to the restaurant.' answered John.

Sherlock looked a little put out by this as he remarked petulantly, 'Ugh, must we. I ate this morning. I've told you before, John, digesting slows me down.'

Placing his hand on to Sherlock's back, John began to propel the young genius in the direction of the hotel restaurant as he replied 'Yes, Sherlock, we must. I've also told you before, we're not on a case at the moment, so you will eat regular meals. Now come on. Do not make me force you, because I think we both know that wouldn't be pretty!'

Sherlock huffed a few times, but both men knew it was little more than a token gesture, as they both walked into the restaurant and took their seats at a small table.

A/N: Okay, so I need a favour, I'm writing the next chapter which will have some of the Q&A section of the weekend. I have a few ideas of what questions could be asked by the attendees for John and Sherlock to answer, but if any of you wish to, please PM me with any ideas you may have. I can't promise to use any questions I receive, but I can promise to consider them. Please remember this is a T rated story, so nothing too graphic please. Thank you so much, I look forward to hearing from any of you.

Please don't forget to leave a review!


	6. It's A Hard Days Night

A/N: A thousand apologies. I am so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter, this is not the chapter I was hoping to write (I tried several times but was having difficulty with a particular character), so this is a little filler chapter as compensation, hopefully I will have better luck with the remaining chapters.

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters (if I did, things would be so very different! LOL!). Also the chapter title belongs to Lennon & McCartney.

Please review and I hope you enjoy. :-)

Chapter Six – It's A Hard Day's Night!

After a relatively uneventful lunch, the two men quickly exited the restaurant before they were ambushed by the growing crowd of people who were gathering ominously near the entrance. Sherlock glanced across at his friend, and noting the hunted expression on the former army captain's face, he grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the lifts.

'But ... Sherlock, they'll follow us.' hissed John as he tried to tug his arm from the younger man's grip.

Without loosening his hold on John's arm, Sherlock lengthened his stride, thereby forcing John to jog along beside him to keep up and arrived at the lifts as one opened as if on cue allowing its occupants to alight. Sherlock quickly moved to intercept the closing doors and entered the lift, pressing the number 3 button. Only when the doors closed and the lift began to ascend, did Sherlock release John's arm.

John grimaced slightly as he glanced down at his arm, he didn't require a medical degree to know there would be a hand shaped bruise forming there shortly. Looking back up at his tall friend, John said in a disgruntled tone of voice, 'What the bloody hell was all that about, Sherlock? I'm fairly certain you didn't need to grab my arm quite that hard.'

Sherlock sighed heavily as he replied, 'If we had used the stairs, as we have done previously, some of the crowd of people would have followed us, possibly even caught up with us. The rest would have used the lifts themselves and would now be waiting to ambush us as we exited the stairwell. Realising this, I reasoned, quite correctly, that we would have a much better chance of losing our pursuers by travelling in the lift ourselves. As long as we managed to stay ahead of the crowd, we would have no difficulty reaching the required floor before everyone else. Therefore I "grabbed" your arm in order to expedite our escape.'

John gave an exasperated huff as he thought through his friend's logical reasoning. Then laughing quietly to himself as the adrenalin racing through his bloodstream began to slowly dissipate, John shook his head a little as his mind replayed the scene, reminding him of a film he had watched with Mary a few days previously on one of the more obscure satellite channels. Tipping his head back, the grin on his face widened as he caught sight of the confused frown on the young detective's face opposite him. Taking pity on his young friend's confusion, John calmed himself enough to speak, 'I'm beginning to get a little insight into how John, Paul, George and Ringo must have felt at the height of Beatlemania.'

Sherlock's frown deepened as he opened his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by a ping as the lift signalled that it had reached its destination. When the doors opened, Sherlock stepped carefully out into the corridor, his head spinning every which way, his keen eyes taking in every detail of the corridor. Motioning for John to follow, he made his way quickly to room 307 and opened the door. Just as John stepped inside and the door closed behind him, the door to the stairs crashed open, followed rapidly by the sound of running feet, and various people calling to each other. From what John and Sherlock could hear from inside their room, it seemed to be the consensus of opinion that the two men had a room on either the third or fourth floor. Silently the two men waited, barely breathing as they listened to the sound of the footsteps as they moved up and down the corridor outside their room. Eventually the noise from the running feet faded away, and silence once again reigned.

Breathing deeply, the two men relaxed their battle posture and moved further into the room, smiling at the absurdity of it all. The stillness of the room was suddenly shattered by a knock on the door. Both men froze as the knock came again. Then a voice muffled by the door could be heard.

'Mr. Holmes? Mr. Holmes, it's Iain Jackson, may I speak with you?'

John stepped over to the door to look through the spyhole. Seeing only the event organiser in the immediate vicinity, he cautiously opened the door and peered out. Noting that the crowd had indeed moved away, he took hold of Iain Jackson's arm and pulled him quickly into the room, closing the door rapidly behind him.

Sherlock stared at the man in front of him, his piercing blue eyes narrowing as he observed his movements.

Noticing the detective's keen gaze resting on him, Iain fidgeted as he smiled nervously. 'Erm ... it's erm ... it's about today's itinerary, well I should say the rest of today's itinerary really as half the day has already passed.' Iain giggled, as his nerves got the better of him. Being a fan of the Great Sherlock Holmes, Iain had often imagined what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of Sherlock's all-seeing gaze, but nothing could have prepared him for the reality.


	7. Questions, But No Answers

A/N: Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter, I hope you enjoy, please review (please be kind :-D). I don't own Sherlock.

Chapter Seven – Questions, But No Answers.

Sherlock paced around the hotel room, rapidly passing his mobile phone from one hand to the other as he strode from the window to the bed and back again. John sighed as he looked up from his newspaper.

'Sherlock! Will you please just sit down, you've been pacing now for the last three hours and you're making me feel dizzy.'

'Hmm? Oh right, yes, of course.' replied Sherlock as he sat down on the side of the bed before standing straight back up again to resume his pacing.

'Sherlock!' said John in his best Captain's voice as he too rose to his feet, reaching out a hand to snag Sherlock's arm as he strode passed. Taking a deep breath before continuing in a quieter tone John said 'You've got to calm down. What's got you so wound up anyway?'

Having been dragged to a halt by John's hand on his arm, Sherlock turned around and glared at his older friend before shrugging John off and replying in a cold voice 'Calm, I'm perfectly calm! Don't tell me to calm down!'

John heaved a massive sigh as he turned away and walked over to the table. Picking up the menu, he turned back and held it out to the taller man, saying as he did so, 'Pick something to eat, we'll order from room service, and DON'T tell me that you're not hungry. Okay? Then, you are going to tell me what the problem is.'

Sherlock huffed as he snatched the menu from John's hand petulantly. Glancing through it too quickly to read any of the words, he then threw it down onto the bed, before following it by flinging himself down on top of the duvet. 'Fine, I'll have a cheese salad.'

John took a deep breath before holding out his hand and asking for it back. Looking through it with more care than Sherlock had taken, he made his choice and phoned through their order.

Once that had been dealt with, he looked back towards his young friend. Sitting down in the chair nearest the bed, he asked quietly and with a calmness he was still having difficulty maintaining, 'What is Sherlock? What's got you so wound up?'

'Why did Mycroft organise this little outing for us? Hmm?' asked Sherlock.

'Well ... it's like you said earlier. He's just collecting on his debt.' replied John, a little confused with where Sherlock was going with this particular line of thought.

'Oh John, such a simple uncomplicated mind. It must be so relaxing for you.' said Sherlock before continuing in the face of John's scowl, 'Mycroft never does anything without a very good reason, and whatever that reason is, he needs me here for the whole of the weekend. You heard that Jackson fellow. The itinerary has been changed. Why; because apparently the person who has been booked to "interview" us in the Q&A has been delayed. If that wasn't the case, we could have completed this whole charade in a single day, but instead, we are being forced to stay for the entire weekend. Why?'

'Okay. Why?' asked John, intrigued in spite of himself.

'No idea. Tea?' replied Sherlock, jumping up from the bed and walking over to the small electric kettle currently sitting on a small side table along with all of the items necessary for hot drinks of tea or coffee. Searching through the selection, he picked what he hoped would be the least dreadful and took the kettle into the en-suite to fill with water.

Standing up, John followed the young genius, watching him fill the kettle, then as Sherlock turned to go back into the room, he asked, 'So what happens now?'

'Now? Well now, we wait. We have a cup of tea, and enjoy room service.' Sherlock replied, 'There isn't very much else we can do, until we get more data. Which we won't, until tomorrow.'


	8. What Are You Doing Here!

A/N: Hope you enjoy this latest offering. As you will see, another character makes an appearance in this chapter. I haven't put him in the character list as I wasn't certain that I would actually write him, and when I did, I decided to keep him as a surprise. As I said earlier, this is set after The Empty Hearse but before The Sign of Three, so I hope you don't think the new character is too OOC.

Hope you enjoy :-) Please review and please be kind. P.S I don't own Sherlock :(

Chapter Eight – What are you doing here?!

John woke up with a start, the lingering nightmare fading slowly from beneath his eyelids. All of the talk the previous evening, about Mycroft's possible involvement in whatever was happening, had brought back all of John's memories surrounding Sherlock's fall from grace over two years earlier. Forcing himself to take several deep, calming breaths, John sat up, his eyes drawn automatically to the sofa, where his friend, the genius detective Sherlock Holmes, was perched. His statue-like pose broken only by the gentle movement of his chest as his lungs filled with the life-giving oxygen as he breathed in and out.

Opening his ice-blue eyes, Sherlock locked his gaze with the former army doctor, a slight frown crossing his face as he recognised the signs of John's disturbed rest and subsequent agitation.

'You should probably try and get more sleep, John. It's still relatively early, the Q&A doesn't begin until after nine, and it's only seven thirty. Plenty of time for you to get ready and for us still to arrive on time. It's not as though we have far to travel, it's being held in the Chester Suite on the ground floor.'

John ran a hand through his short greying blonde hair as he stretched and yawned widely.

'Mmmm. It's fine, I should really be getting up. Need to grab some breakfast as well.' John said as he swung his legs out of bed to stand up. 'Any further insight into what is really going on here?'

'Knowing Mycroft as I do, I have one or two ideas.' replied Sherlock with a smirk, 'None that I wish to reveal at the moment however.'

John sighed and rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner, 'Of course you don't, where would be the fun in that.'

'Relax John, it's fine. As long as you brought your gun, we shouldn't have too many problems.' stated Sherlock calmly.

The mention of his gun, brought John's journey to the bathroom to a swift halt as he turned his head sharply in his friend's direction.

'Gun! No, I haven't brought my gun, why would I have brought my gun?! This was just meant to be a quick trip to see a crime scene. Police everywhere, no need for an illegally held gun!'

Sherlock grinned, 'Come on John, you know better than that. Be Prepared, that's my motto. It's lucky for you that I brought a spare.' Sherlock replied as he removed a handgun from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it over to John.

As John automatically checked that the safety catch was on and that it was already loaded, he said quietly, 'Be Prepared is the scout's motto Sherlock, and there is no way in hell that you were ever a Boy Scout!'

Sherlock huffed in response, before waving a hand around in a dismissive gesture, and saying, 'Is it? Well that's not important right now. What is important is that we now have a gun and a trained soldier who can use it! Wouldn't you agree, _Doctor_ _Watson_?'

John turned back towards the bathroom and resumed his journey, grumbling as he did so, 'Fine! Give me ten minutes to get ready, then we'll go down and get some breakfast.'

Once breakfast was over and the two men had managed to escape the crowds gathering outside the hotel restaurant, they made their way rapidly to a room next to the Chester Suite that had been set up as a green room for the guests of the convention to relax in. Walking through the door, both men stopped suddenly as their eyes took in the sight before them. Sitting on one of the three sofas, former police forensic scientist Philip Anderson was pouring himself a cup of tea from the teapot that was situated on the coffee table in front of him. Looking up at the sound of the door opening, his bright blue eyes lit up at the sight of Sherlock entering the room.

'Sherlock, it's so good to see you.' gushed Anderson as he stood up, walked over and grasped Sherlock's hand in his own. 'A thousand apologies for the delay, I was stuck in London I'm afraid, my car wouldn't start, and all of the trains and coaches were fully booked. I couldn't get a seat on any of them. It was all rather bizarre, but I'm here now. I am really looking forward to our Q&A, it should be a lot of fun.'

Sherlock smiled thinly, his eyes narrowing as they swept across the other man. Pulling his hand from Anderson's overly familiar handshake, he took a moment to glance across at John who was watching the scene with an eyebrow raised in barely concealed amusement. Sherlock's mouth twitched slightly at the expression on his friend's face before turning back to Anderson.

'So you helped to organise this little event. How very enterprising of you.' replied Sherlock with a polite social smile fixed in place as he feigned an interest he did not have.

Anderson looked a little surprised before grinning widely, then raising the index finger of his right hand, he pointed at Sherlock and said with a laugh, 'Oh you! You and that brain of yours! Yes, I founded a little group while you were ... you know. The Empty Hearse, I called it. You saw my notes when you came to the flat a few months ago.

John, who had been concentrating on the small chandelier-like wall lights set at intervals around the room as a way of distracting himself from the sycophantic gibberish being spouted by the former forensic officer suddenly froze when he heard that last part. Spinning around to face Sherlock, he opened his mouth to interrupt and demand to know how and why Sherlock was at the flat of a man who, up until Sherlock had taken the fall, had publicly despised the consulting detective and his extraordinary gifts. He was prevented however, when Sherlock's eyes flicked momentarily in his direction, silencing the words on his tongue. The moment was brief, but it told John everything he needed to know in an instant. "Don't speak. Working!" John was certainly no genius, but he knew better than to interrupt a real genius at work!

Sherlock continued smiling benignly as he listened to Anderson's story of how he had set up his little support group for "like-minded individuals". Most of it was useless information that he would quickly delete as soon as the conversation was over, but some of it was rather interesting. The sections where Anderson spoke of how he had first met Iain Jackson for example, that had Mycroft's fat, greasy fingerprints all over it. The questions still remained – Why? What did Mycroft hope to gain from all of this? Why had he ensured Sherlock's and John's presence? Growling quietly in frustration, Sherlock was brought back to the present by the chiming of a clock on the wall telling the inhabitants of the room that it was nine o'clock.

The hourly chimes also had the rather more fortunate effect of stopping Anderson mid-flow, as he realised the time.

'Oh my, is that the time? I'm due on stage. Now, I will be doing a little chat and Q&A with the audience first, just to get them warmed up, so to speak.' At this point Anderson chuckled heartily at his little joke, though John and Sherlock remained silent with bemused looks on their faces, glancing between themselves in the hope that the other would understand what was so amusing. Anderson then coughed slightly with embarrassment before continuing, 'Well, anyway, then I'll invite you both out on stage. I will then conduct an interview with you, using some of the questions given in by the attendees. Okay? Well, I'll see you later Sherlock, Doctor Watson.' With a final all-encompassing smile, Anderson walked through a side door and climbed the steps onto the stage leaving Sherlock and John behind. As the door closed, they could just hear a smattering of polite applause coming from the small group of people sitting in front of the stage.


	9. Like A Little Teddy Bear!

Disclaimer: Still don't own Sherlock! :-(

Hope you enjoy this latest offering, please review. :-)

Chapter Nine – Like A Little Teddy Bear!

Sherlock stepped towards the door that Anderson had just walked through to get to the stage beyond. Just as he reached out his right hand to the handle, John hissed quietly.

'Sherlock, what are you doing? You heard Anderson. We have to wait to be called!'

'I'm aware of that John. Tell me, how will we know when we are being called if we can't hear what is being said? Hmm?' Sherlock replied before gently pulling open the door a little as quietly as he could. Looking through the opened door he grinned as he beckoned John over, placing a finger to his lips to indicate the need for silence. John grumpily complied with both requests, coming to stand next to his tall friend. Peering cautiously around Sherlock, the sight that greeted the former soldier brought an answering grin to his own features as he watched Anderson preen himself as he stood in the spotlight. The forensic scientist's own sense of self-importance undimmed as he sat in the centre of the stage and told the audience of his, apparently, unwavering belief in "The Great Detective, Sherlock Holmes", conveniently forgetting all of the many occasions when he had attempted to ridicule Sherlock's work, and belittle the young detective's insights into the criminal mind.

After several more minutes of this, the time for questions from the floor finally arrived. The set-up was really quite simple, a microphone stand (with microphone) had been set up in the centre aisle, and anyone wishing to ask any questions could make their way to the microphone and ask their question.

A small queue began to form, each excited attendee waiting for their chance to ask a real life friend of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson a question. The people in the queue ranged in age from early teens to late fifties/early sixties with the majority of them dressed quite obviously as Sherlock with the long dark coat and scarf wrapped around their necks. Some even went as far as dying their hair a dark brown / black shade, whilst one member of the queue wore a wig made from the finest nylon. When John saw it, he was actually surprised, and rather relieved, that it wasn't giving off sparks from the amount of static electricity it must have been attracting. One attendee did stand out however, a short blonde woman was dressed in what appeared to be a British desert army uniform, though, as John was a former member of the aforementioned army, he could pick out several errors.

When Anderson finally noticed the apparent soldier in the queue, a smirk crossed his face as some of his personality from before Sherlock's rooftop plunge, and Anderson's own fall from grace began to reassert itself. Straightening up, he looked down his nose as he stated, 'I think you've come to the wrong event miss. There's probably a reunion for army personnel in one of the other conference rooms at the hotel. This is a convention for fans of Sherlock Holmes. You should speak to the hotel sta ...'

'And Dr. Watson.' interrupted the woman standing at the microphone, having made her way politely to the front of the queue when Anderson began speaking to her. 'This is a convention for fans of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. I'm Afghanistan!John, I mean, come on, John Watson, he's amazing! A soldier, ... and a doctor, he's brilliant!'

A fiery crimson blush spread rapidly across the former forensic officer's cheeks, his facial expression resembling that of a goldfish as his mouth opened and closed several times without uttering a sound before finally snapping shut with embarrassment. Clearing his throat several times, Anderson eventually stammered 'Yes, well ... anyway, did you ... erm ... have a question or ... erm ... something?'

Smiling widely, the woman replied, 'Oh yes, I wanted to ask. What is Dr. Watson like, you know, in real life? See, I imagine him as really cuddly, like a little teddy bear, and cute. You know what I mean? So is he?'

In the silence that fell across the room, as the assembled attendees waited for Anderson's reply, there suddenly came the unmistakeable sound of a person apparently choking, followed quickly by a door slamming shut. All eyes swivelled around to the previously unnoticed door through which Anderson had walked some twenty or so minutes before.

Once the door closed, Sherlock leant against it, gasping for breath, a bottle of water that he had taken from the hotel room clasped loosely in his hand. Tears streaming down his face as his body convulsed in it's attempt to expel the water that he had unintentionally inhaled into his lungs when he had begun laughing at the sight of John's face upon hearing the uniform-clad woman's comment about him resembling a teddy bear. Once he finally had himself under control and was no longer in danger of coughing up several internal organs with each breath, he pushed himself upright and turned to look at the older man. Grinning, Sherlock quickly wiped the tears from his face and opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by John as he said in a clear low voice, 'Not! One! Word! Sherlock! Understand?'

Realising that he had no wish for a repeat performance of his first night back in London, after his time away, and the bloody nose that was the ultimate result of his first meeting with John, Sherlock wisely closed his mouth.


	10. It's Sherl o'clock

A/N: Hope you enjoy this chapter, please review (please be kind), I don't own Sherlock

Chapter Ten – It's Sherl o'clock!

Having finally calmed himself down to a point where he could look at his friend without wishing to commit cold-blooded murder, John carefully pulled open the door until it was barely ajar. Silently peering through the gap, he glanced around quickly before pulling himself back from the door. He gestured for Sherlock to take a look as he stepped away towards the table to pour himself a cup of tea.

Sherlock moved over to the door and watched the proceedings. The room appeared to be filling up as scores of attendees were making their way to the rows of seats set up facing the stage. Suddenly, Sherlock felt something nudge his elbow. Looking down and to the side, he realised that John had a cup of tea in each hand and was gently nudging the consulting detective's arm before holding one of the cups out for him to take. Taking the cup from his friend's hand, he murmured 'Thank you,' before walking over to the coffee table and placing the half-drunk bottle of water on it's surface. Strolling back to the door, he took a small sip of tea, smiling slightly when he realised it had been made to his exact specifications, proof (if any were needed), that while John may pretend outwardly that he was still furious with Sherlock for laughing at the young woman's unfortunate comparison between John and a cuddly teddy bear, he had in fact forgiven the young detective.

'Don't smirk, Sherlock, I'm still extremely angry with you.' said John quietly so as not to attract the attention of any of the attendees in the room beyond. The corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he fought to maintain his stern expression.

Schooling his own features into a suitable approximation of an apology, Sherlock replied, 'Of course John, I apologise.'

Losing the battle with his facial muscles, John grinned when he caught sight of Sherlock's face and laughingly whispered 'Sod off, you idiot! We're meant to be keeping an eye on what's going on, so we know when we have to go on stage.'

Offering a small genuine smile to his short friend, Sherlock turned back to the door.

'... and that's how I knew that Sherlock Holmes was still alive.' Anderson's mouth grew into a smug grin as he answered the final question. Pulling his focus from the microphone stand, he realised that more people had entered during his small Q&A session. Checking his watch, he noted the time, and as his smile widened, he raised his own microphone to his face and said in a clear voice, 'If you will give us a few moments to re-set the stage, the time is fast approaching Sherl o'clock!'

As the cheering and clapping rang out, several members of the convention staff walked on to the stage and began setting up some chairs with a small table. After checking two more microphones for sound quality, and placing several bottles of water on to the table, they quickly retreated from the stage.

Suddenly the voice of a compère could be heard asking for silence.

'Ladies and gentlemen! Your attention please! Please welcome on stage, the people we have all been waiting for! Mr Sherlock Holmes, and Dr. John Watson!'

The wall of sound emanating from the audience reached a crescendo as the two men left the relative safety of the green room and walked towards the stage. Climbing the three steps up to the stage, Sherlock and John both paused for a moment to take in the sight before them. From their previous position at the door to the green room, it had been difficult for them to fully grasp the sheer magnitude of what they would be facing. Stepping onto the stage they turned and saw rows and rows of people, the majority of whom were on their feet clapping and cheering for all they were worth. Sherlock's keen all-seeing gaze swept around the room. The ice-blue irises shining as a slight frown creased his forehead before it was smoothed away. His mind churning behind a calm, blank exterior.

Turning back, Sherlock walked over to one of the chairs, sat down, and waited until John had acknowledged their audience with a bright smile, and followed to his own seat. Sitting opposite them, Philip Anderson hefted a sheaf of paper that would make Sherlock's ever present piles of papers and books stored at Baker Street look small in comparison, onto the table. Smiling widely, he looked across at the two interviewees as he spoke, 'So gentlemen, as you can see from the volume of questions, we have plenty to get through, so I suggest we make a start.'

Not deigning to reply, Sherlock simply waved his hand in a graceful manner, as though bestowing some great honour on everyone present, or possibly practising the royal wave. Noticing the gesture made by the younger man, out of the corner of his eye, John grimaced slightly, before he smiled politely and replied, 'Of course, please do go on.'

Clearing his throat, Anderson smiled and said, 'Well, the main theme of the questions appear to be regarding the events that took place over two years ago. Now obviously, much has been speculated about those happenings, but there has been little said about your time away, so could you tell us please, what have you been up to during your two year absence Sherlock?'

Sherlock, slowly lifted the microphone to his mouth, before lowering it again. Glancing across at John who was purposely not looking at the young detective, he took a deep breath. Watching his friend intently for a few moments before turning back to look at the former Forensic Officer, he again raised the microphone. Moistening his lips briefly, he began to speak, 'There are ... people ... who are aware of what I was doing during my absence from London. However, I ... and those who ... aided me in my endeavours, feel that ... it would not be ... beneficial to reveal such details in such a public forum as this.'

His internal excitement, at apparently coming close to unearthing a secret, building rapidly, Anderson's eyes gleamed with the promise of finding out some information never before mentioned. Leaning forward in his seat, he asked, 'So you were up to something, then?'

Fixing Anderson with a piercing gaze, Sherlock once again raised the microphone and said in a clear voice for all to hear, 'I have answered the question ... Philip! I have nothing further to say on the matter. Next question!'

Forcibly pulling his eyes away from Sherlock's intense glare, Anderson looked down at his sheets of paper. Looking back up, he smiled nervously at the consulting detective, before turning to John and asking, 'Dr. Watson, good morning, now, the question on everyone's lips is, how did you feel when you first realised that Sherlock was alive and back in London?'

Both Sherlock and John froze. Flicking a quick glance in Sherlock's direction, John saw the tension in his friend's face. A tension that most people would miss if they didn't know the young genius well. Taking a deep, calming breath, and forcing down the memories of that evening in the restaurant when Sherlock had shown himself to still be alive, John lifted his microphone to his face and replied, 'My feelings regarding Sherlock's return to the land of the living, are precisely that. My feelings. I don't feel particularly comfortable talking about the period of my life when Sherlock was absent, and his return is a part of that time. All I will say is that Sherlock Holmes is my friend and I am very pleased that he is alive.'

Looking between the two men, Anderson quickly realised that he wasn't going to get them to be very open about the events around Sherlock's absence or his subsequent return. Glancing down at his sheaf of papers, he began rifling through them in an effort to find a question that they may answer. Watching the former forensic officer in front of them begin to panic slightly as he couldn't seem to find a suitable question caused the two men to stifle their giggles as they caught each other's eye.

The noise of a sudden commotion pulled the heads of all three men around to face the front of the stage. There in the centre aisle was a young man, somewhere in his late teens or early twenties, with his left arm around the neck of an older woman, dragging her along with him as he walked slowly towards the stage. This, in itself, was worrying, but even more alarming was the handgun he held in his right hand. The noise from the audience grew as more people became aware of what was happening.

'QUIET!' The young gunman screamed loud enough to be heard above the rising tide of noise. 'Thank you, now, I have a question.' he continued, once the noise had died away, in a quieter voice that held a polite, reasonable tone, quite at odds with the violent image he was projecting.

'Well you seem to have everyone's attention, so please, ask away.' replied Sherlock, a hint of steel in his calm voice.

'Sherlock, don't upset the man with the gun.' murmured John quietly.

Oh don't you worry, Mr. Holmes, I'll ask my question! You see, what I want to know is this. Why does this bitch get to live when my brother is lying six feet under? Answer me that Mr. Holmes, if you're such a great genius!' the young man asked as he waved the gun around indiscriminately.


	11. Bang! Bang!

A/N: Apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. I decided to try my hand at a little bit of deduction (blimey it's hard!) Hope you enjoy, I've already started to write the next chapter which will probably be the final chapter for this story. Please review, and please be kind.

Disclaimer: Surely it goes without saying by now that I do not own Sherlock, but I've said it anyway, just in case people are unsure! :-)

Chapter Eleven – Bang! Bang!

An eerie silence filled the room as everyone waited with baited breath to see what would happen next.

'Well? Are you going to answer my question, or do I have to start shooting people Mr. Holmes?' demanded the young gunman as he tightened his hold on his hostage's neck.

Leaning forward in his chair, Sherlock's eyes narrowed as they swept across the man in front of him. His brain swirling with endless possibilities as he catalogued all of the information his eyes were seeing.

'Hmm, let's see ... you grew up in a run down inner city area, not London, at least not with that accent. It was however somewhere with a rather substantial gang culture. You're the eldest son of a single parent family with two, no ... three younger siblings. The brother who died is the one who was closest in age to yourself, and incidentally, the only one to share the same father. Your mother is currently working three jobs in order to make ends meet, though if she continues to consume alcohol as regularly as she is doing at present, that won't last. Your brother fell in with one of the local gangs, which ultimately led to his death. No great mystery. Rather boring in fact ... gang warfare. As to why the woman whose neck you currently have your arm around is still alive, I would have thought that was obvious. She has clearly never had a life threatening illness, nor been in an accident that was serious enough to kill her. She has not been murdered nor has she taken her own life. She is not in fact a ghost, which don't exist anyway. The only other possibilities are sudden death syndrome or a pre-existing undiagnosed medical condition, and as both of those scenarios are rare, I would say that I have answered your question in a satisfactory manner.'

Sitting back in his seat, Sherlock stretched out his legs with a sigh and crossed them nonchalantly at the ankles, while his all-seeing gaze flowed around the room.

As he looked around, he noticed that while he had been engaged in deducing the young gunman, John had surreptitiously removed the spare gun that Sherlock had given him earlier, from his waistband, and had subconsciously moved into a deceptively relaxed stance, his dark blue eyes flickering rapidly between the young man in front of them and Sherlock himself.

Returning his gaze to the young gunman, Sherlock realised that announcing his family history in such an uncompromising manner may not, upon reflection, have been the wisest idea he had ever had. It was clear to see (even for the detective), that hearing all about his mother's issues with alcohol in front of such a large crowd of strangers was not the quickest, or indeed best, way to diffuse the current situation. As he began to think off the various ways in which he could calm the situation down, he was a little surprised to hear the man standing at his side begin to speak.

'Hey, mate, what's your name?' John called, raising his voice slightly in order to be heard without needing the microphone which he had placed back on the table before reaching for the gun that was currently held behind his back in what he hoped was a casual enough manner so as not to draw undue attention to it.

Shifting his focus to the former soldier at Sherlock's side, the young gunman appeared momentarily startled as he saw what seemed to him to be an older man dressed like someone's granddad, with his 'trying to be cool' jeans and trainers, and a 'ridiculously uncool' knitted cardigan. Recovering his composure, he sneered at John as he replied.

'What's it to you, old man! I'm talking to the organ grinder, not the monkey.'

John blinked, his shoulders straightening as he tried to decide whether to find the whole thing amusing or be offended by the younger man's comments. Raising his eyebrows, he turned to Sherlock with a 'can-you believe-this-guy' expression on his face. Turning back before Sherlock's twinkling, amusement filled eyes got the better of him, and he began giggling in a less than professional manner (that would definitely fall within the realm of 'a bit not good'), he blinked again. Straightening his posture until his back was ramrod straight, John said,

'Old man? Is that what you're calling me?'

'Well, that's what you are. You're just some old bloke.' replied the younger man, feeling rather cocky as he waved the gun in his hand around in the air.

'Okay, I am trying to be nice about this. I really am, because when all is said and done, you are just a kid, and I really don't need the hassle that this is causing. I'm a bit busy you see. I've got a lot of stuff going on right now, and I really don't have time to be pandering to a kid like you.' answered John as his mind filled with thoughts of all the various wedding duties he had to fulfil, he still had to sort out the best man for Christ's sake. Taking a deep, and he hoped, calming breath he continued, 'Now why don't you do us all a favour and put the gun down. You're really not helping yourself by waving it around like that Someone could get hurt or even killed, and believe me, you don't want that on your conscience.'

'You can't tell me what to do, I've got a gun. I'm in charge here, not you, old man! You do as I say, or I'll shoot ya!' replied the youngster as he began to wave the gun in John's direction, his grip beginning to loosen around his hostage's neck.

Lowering his head and closing his eyes, John sighed heavily. Finally, after a couple of seconds of deep breathing, he raised his head up to it's previous position. Opening his eyes, he gazed calmly at the young gunman as he brought his hands from behind his back. Flicking off the safety catch, he raised the gun and aimed at the gunman in front of him.

'I said. Put. The gun. Down!' stated John calmly, neither his gaze nor his aim wavering in the slightest.

A deathly silence filled the room for several seconds, though some attendees would later say that it felt more like hours as time seemed to stretch and bend. Suddenly there was the sound of two gunshots, the second immediately after the first, splitting the air. The sonic boom echoing around the conference room, followed swiftly by loud piercing screams.


	12. Nobody's Girl

A/N: So here it is, the final chapter. :-) I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who has reviewed this story so far (please continue), it is the most reviews I have received for one of my stories, and I am over the moon. They all mean so much to me! :-D

I don't own Sherlock, unfortunately, I just play with them occasionally. ;-P

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Twelve – Nobody's Girl!

Once the metaphorical dust eventually settled, John finally had a moment of peace to look around the hall and take stock of everything that had occurred. The broken glass that had fallen when the bullet from the young man's indiscriminate shooting had hit one of the wall lights, was spread across a relatively small area.

Most of the attendees of the convention had been removed from the room and placed elsewhere in the hotel. They were probably drinking copious cups of tea (for the shock), and going through their witness statements. Some paramedics were still milling around, checking on those who had sustained some minor injuries. Most of them had occurred from the flying glass, though there were several attendees being treated for bruising and concussion after their attempts to flee the gunshot had resulted in some being pushed to the ground. Thankfully, the only other injury had been to the gunman himself when John had been forced to incapacitate him. Luckily the wound wasn't too serious, and he had already been sent to the nearest A&E for treatment.

'Are you alright?' The whispered murmur in his ear broke through his reverie, causing him to jump slightly as the adrenaline that was still coursing through his bloodstream spiked again. Spinning around, he saw his friend, Sherlock Holmes standing behind him.

'Jesus, Sherlock! Don't do that!' John's hand rising to his chest in an unconscious effort to calm his racing heart.

Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow in reply.

'I'm fine ... just, don't creep up on me like that. Okay?' said John, his respiration rate gradually returning to normal, 'So, care to fill me in on what all of that was about? I would prefer to know precisely why we're here before I get arrested for the illegal possession of a firearm, and the shooting of a member of the public with said firearm.'

Sherlock looked down at the older man with a smirk on his face as he replied, 'Oh ... I wouldn't worry about that, John. You're not going to be arrested. Is he ... brother, dear?' As he said the last two words, Sherlock spun around to face his older brother.

Mycroft gazed blankly back at his younger brother, before turning to face John, who had also turned around as Sherlock spoke. Smiling smugly, Mycroft addressed the doctor. 'There's really no reason for you to concern yourself with what happened here today, John.'

Looking at his friend's older brother, John blinked a couple of times before replying.'You know Mycroft, you really shouldn't smile like that. It really is very off-putting. As for not concerning myself, there was an entire room of witnesses to the events that have just taken place. How can I not be concerned? Oh ... wait, don't tell me ... they all work for you. Don't they?'

'Of course they don't _all_ work for me. Some of them are ... fans of you and Sherlock.' replied Mycroft, his lip twisting into a sneer at the thought of his younger brother having fans. 'They are hardly likely to do anything to upset either of you. After all you're quite the hero, John. You saved them from a 'crazed' gunman, did you not?'

Motioning for his brother to follow, Mycroft walked over to a quieter part of the room leaving John to continue his contemplations of the events of the weekend, knowing this was one occasion that would not be appearing on his blog.

'Excuse me, Doctor Watson?'

John glanced back and realised that the woman who had been at the centre of the furore was standing behind him, one hand raised slightly as if it was about to make contact with his arm. Smiling gently, he said, 'Oh hello, are you okay, no lasting damage to your neck, I hope?'

'No, no, I'm fine. Just a little superficial bruising, it'll be gone in a day or so. I'm not important. No, I just wanted to say thank you Dr. Watson. What you do, what you both do ... well, it's appreciated.' the woman replied, dropping her hand back to her side, as she looked across at the Holmes brothers standing in the corner of the room, drawing John's eyes to the two men. 'You're a good man, Doctor Watson.'

Turning slightly to glance at the woman now standing close at his side, John gave a small nod in recognition of her compliment before returning his gaze to the curly haired genius and his older brother.

'And Sherlock Holmes is a great man, one might even say the best. Be happy, Doctor Watson.' she added.

John murmured a quiet thank you, as he continued his perusal of his best friend. Hearing no further comments, John turned and realised he was now alone. Looking around, he saw no sign of the young woman who had been standing at his shoulder only seconds before.

'John? Come on, we have a train to catch, mustn't be late.'

Turning back, John saw the tall detective staring at him, their luggage at his feet, 'How ...? Never mind, I'll just sort out payment, could you ... um ... lend me some ... erm ...' stammered John as he walked over and began picking up their bags, knowing that Sherlock would never lower himself to do anything so mundane as carry luggage.

'No need John! Mycroft's dealing with all of that. At least he's useful for something.' replied Sherlock as he turned and strode away towards the front of the hotel.

When John finally caught up with his long-legged friend, Sherlock was waiting next to a taxi, the door open to receive John and the bags. Climbing inside, John turned to his friend and asked, 'So what was it all about? Why did your brother need you to attend this event? And who was that woman?'

Joining the doctor in the back of the taxi, Sherlock replied, 'I don't know her real name, but she's one of Mycroft's people. She was working undercover trying to find a way into the local gangs; there have been rumours of gang warfare escalating, and the Government are looking at ways to reduce the risk of more rioting on our city streets. She had befriended a couple of the younger gang members, one of whom was the brother of the gunman from earlier. She was in the process of trying to turn them to gain greater access and more information, when something went wrong. It's difficult to pinpoint precisely what that was, because gangs are notoriously volatile, so realistically it could have been for any number of reasons. However, the gunman's younger brother was killed and the intelligence officer's cover was blown. Further intelligence suggested that something would happen this weekend, it's the one year anniversary of the young boy's death, and as Mycroft knew from the family's internet records that they were all fans of my website, he decided to use my fame to bring things to a head. The young man will get the help he needs to deal with his brother's death, the intelligence officer will be reassigned to another case, and the gangs will believe that the spy in their midst has been withdrawn, which will allow the rest of Mycroft's people to work unhindered.'

'Wow! So ... Mycroft's paying for our stay at the hotel yeah? It's coming from his own pocket, not from some Government fund using tax-payer's money?' inquired John.

'Yes, Mycroft is paying for it out of his own money, the tax-payer isn't footing the bill at all for this. Why do you ask?' answered Sherlock, a confused frown wrinkling his brow.

'I was just thinking ... I wish I'd raided the mini bar now!' replied John, his lips quirking upwards into a smile.

Grinning widely, Sherlock put both his hands into his coat pockets and pulled out several small bottles of alcohol, and placed them carefully onto John's lap.

Looking down in surprise, John's smile widened until it threatened to split his entire face, before he dissolved into giggles, joined immediately by his friend's deeper chuckles.


End file.
